The Debt I Owe
by Les Pansycakes
Summary: How Clint and Natasha met. Rated M because of reasons. (Clintasha, obviously.)
1. Chapter 1

Clint sat at a table on the second floor, overlooking the entirety of the museum. The party guests were flooding in, already mingling and enjoying themselves greatly this early in the night. His eyes swept through the crowd until finally falling on a certain figure. The woman was beautiful. Her pale skin contrasted greatly with her incredibly red hair. She was wearing a plain, yet extremely elegant black gown: the kind of outfit that one wears when trying not to draw too much attention. Though, she was the type who draws attention regardless, just due to her striking natural appearance. He decided not to follow her. In due time, she would make her way over to him. He had that sort of effect on women.

Couple hours later, Natasha walked up the stairs, sitting across from the man, whom she pegged as a spy the moment she caught sight of him. His suave, arrogant way of carrying himself. The way he was carefully observing everyone in the room, you could practically see his mind analyzing each and every detail. Natasha snickered to herself when he shrugged off more than a few female guests who were obviously throwing themselves at him, confirming her suspicions even more. The question was if he was on an actual assignment, or if he was merely there to keep an eye on things. Not having seen him get up from his seat once since the beginning of the party, she decided it was at least somewhat safe to go speak to him. She shouldn't be going near him at all, but she was bored. The whole night been so uneventful that perhaps she just couldn't help but play with fire.

Natasha sat in the seat opposite of him, not saying a word. She brought her glass to her lips, sipping some the red wine inside. It was Clint who finally broke the silence.

"Pretty boring party, isn't it?"

"They always are."

"Why bother coming then?"

She sighed. "Business matters." Delicately, she traced around the edges of her wine glass, gazing out the window.

"Oh, I see. Well," he said, getting up from his seat for the first time in hours, "I'm going to go check out those paintings. You're welcome to join." And with that, he walked off, knowing she'd follow.

Except that she didn't. Now, it was Natasha's turn to sit and observe the stranger. She watched him as he strutted through the hallways, trying to figure him out. Every now and then, he would glance back at her, pointing to a painting and making a highly exagerrated thumbs-up towards her, then gesturing for her to come over and check it out. She would nod her head "no" but found herself having to supress a smile. Clint took his time, playing hard-to-get, although truthfully, he was getting very tired of looking at the various works of art.

He eventually went back to the table, putting on a grin. "You're still here."

Nat rolled her eyes. "Like you haven't been checking up on me every two point four seconds."

"That's oddly specific," Clint smirked. "Been counting the seconds, have you?"

She narrowed her eyes, a trace of a smile playing across her lips. "No," she said, slightly defensive.

"Then what? Miss.." He trailed off, looking at her expectantly, waiting for her to introduce herself. He knew her name, of course. He'd been sent her file.

"Romanov." She finished, although she wasn't sure why. She regretted it instantly. Now he could look her up, if he didn't already know who she was. The chances were fifty-fifty. If he already knew, then it didn't make a difference. If he didn't, then her name would've raised up a million red flags.

But Clint's composure didn't change one bit, he was exactly the same as he had been a few moments ago, which made Natasha suspicious all over again. "Is there a first name to go along with that, Miss Romanov?" He paused, then added another side note last minute. "And since you didnt correct me on the utilization of the word 'Miss', I'm assuming you're not married."

She nodded, deciding that she needed to be more careful from this point on, but also realizing that the damage was already done as far as her identity went. "Natasha," she replied. Laughing, she added, "And no, I'm not married."

"Hmm..." He rested his chin on one of his hands. "What about similar commitments of any kind? ..A boyfriend?" She shook her head.

Clint seemed to consider something, then, with a teasing grin on his face, he leaned in across the table, lowering his voice. "What do you say we ditch this horrible excuse for a party?"

She lifted an eyebrow at him, smirking. "I don't even know your name," she stated, unamused.

"Barton," He said, pausing for half a second. "Clint Barton."

She rolled her eyes at him for the second time. "_How relevant. A James Bond reference_," she thought.

He eyed her. "Hey, we can't all have such beautiful and intriguing names as 'Natasha Romanov' ..some of us are stuck with non-impressive names such as 'Clint Barton' and have to resort to cheesy James Bond references to keep things interesting," he said, defending himself.

She bit her lip, still trying not to laugh. "Alright. Let's get out of here."

A few minutes later, they were in Clint's car, on their way to his hotel room.


	2. Chapter 2

**/Extremely/ short chapter. I was actually done with this entire part yesterday, but thought it should be longer before I uploaded it. I was entertaining the thought of just putting it up because it would still fit and be fine as a chapter in and of itself.. Then this morning, I woke up to quite a few emails and you guys got me excited! So here it is! You're welcome. xP**

* * *

Once they arrived at Clint's hotel, the pair made their way up the elevator and down the various hallways. Clint stopped as they approached a door with the numbers 724 on it, and pulled out his room key. "Welcome to my _temporary_ humble abode," he chuckled softly at his own joke as he wrenched the door open.

Natasha peeked in, the vision of the room becoming more and more complete as the door widened. Upon seeing the place, humble was not exactly the first word that popped into her mind. It probably wasn't celebrity material per se, but it was close enough. The room was spotless, classy, and kept in order. If it wasn't for the black nondescript bag already sitting next to the bed, Nat would be lead to believe this was the very first time even Clint had stepped into the room. It also looked as if hotel staff had gotten this specific room ready with extra attention and care. Yep, this guy was _definitely _a spy.

Clint took ahold of her hand gently and lead her inside, slyly taking the opportunity to pull her closer to him. They stood there in the doorway, face-to-face, both of them leaning in just barely as to make their lips within reach of a kiss. Yet neither of them moved any closer. They stood for a good few minutes, just taking in how beautiful the other was, simultaneously considering the danger of sleeping with them.

They both mused, "_Is it worth it?" _Apparently, Clint decided it was. He placed his hand on her lower back and pressed his lips against hers. She returned the favor, lightly caressing his cheek with one hand, gripping his shoulder with the other. His hand traveled down her side, threatening to trek even further downward. Immediately, Nat, being lost in the moment, snapped back into reality as she became increasingly aware of the gun strapped to her upper thigh.

"_Oh shit. Oh shit! Oh shit oh shit oh shit oh shit oh shit!" _Natasha opened her eyes and pulled back, trying to think up some excuse.

"Is..." Clint looked at her, then checked behind him and around the room, "...something wrong?"

She exhaled. "No, I'm sorry. I just-"

"Don't be," he smiled crookedly. "I, uh, had to use the restroom anyway." And with that, he turned and left her alone.

Natasha frantically sprang up and started searching the room for some kind of hiding place, in the end deciding to stash it underneath the matress. Meanwhile, Clint was in the bathroom. He forced himself to take a piss then turned on the faucet and called out, "Just washing my hands. I'll be right out!" But in all honesty, that was merely for show. He reached toward his back, taking hold of his favorite handgun from the waistband of his pants and carefully attaching it to the underside of the bathroom counter before walking out.

"Now where were we?"


End file.
